


Just Shoot Me Now

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Prompt Fic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can endure a lot, but he's not sure he can take this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Shoot Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #23: **Earworm.** We've all had music get stuck in our heads. Now do the same to a character in your story.
> 
>   
>  **Warnings** : Oh, I'm going to the special hell for this one. Crack, whump, and crack. Did I mention crack? **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.  
>   
> 

 

 

John really wasn’t sure which was worse: the itch on the side of his face that he couldn’t reach to scratch (thanks to the dried blood there and being handcuffed to a chair); the pounding headache (courtesy of the probable low-grade concussion he’d sustained when Goon #1 hit him over the head while he’d been distracted by Goon #2 - or was that Goon-ess? Goon-Babe? Or was goon gender-neutral? Jesus, he must be more concussed than he’d thought); or the god-damned earworm on infinite loop in his aching, ringing skull. No, never mind that; it was definitely the earworm. John had no idea why his guard (Goon #3) had watched something on his laptop with _that song_ in the background multiple times in a row, any more than he had any idea where the man had gone, or why he hadn’t come back. At least he hadn’t left whatever-it-was playing. But then again, it didn’t really matter, because _that song_ was merrily playing on inside his head over and over and _over_ again.

_Tell me what you want_   
_What you really really want…_

“For you to _shut the hell up_ , that’s what I really want!” John groaned to himself.

“Not exactly the greeting I was expecting,” a familiar voice came from somewhere behind him. Seconds later, Sherlock crouched next to him, his hands already busily working on John’s handcuffs. His eyebrows creased in worry as his eyes traced the dried blood along one side of John’s head.

“Not sure why not, it can’t be that uncommon a reaction,” Lestrade said with somewhat forced flippancy as he knelt down on John’s other side. “You all right there?” Unlike the humor, the concern was sincere.

John fixed him with as much of a stare as he could manage, given the general fuzziness of his vision. “Concussion, some bruises, scalp laceration – I’d say I’d be fine, except I’ve got a Spice Girls song stuck in my head.” He heard a click and his hands came free of the cuffs. He reached forward and grabbed Greg’s jacket by both lapels. “Please, if you’ve any mercy, _just_ _shoot me now_.”

“Spice _what?_ ” Sherlock’s frown deepened as he reached out and steadied John before he could fall out of his chair. His hands were gentle, caring, even as concern lent a sharp edge to his words. “Lestrade, he’s incoherent. We need that ambulance here _now_. And I’d like a word with Mathews about what he might have given John.”

Lestrade shook his head. “It’s not as bad as you think, Sherlock.”

“Says you!” John mumbled.

“He’s just got an earworm, that’s all.” He moved to help Sherlock support John, and between them they managed to get the smaller man to his feet. “Come on. We’ll meet the medics upstairs and get you checked out. And I’ll send one of the constables to my car for my iPod. We’ll get you fixed up with some Queen or Buddy Holly in no time.”

“Mozart would be better, or Mendelsohn,” Sherlock argued. “Or the Ramones, if you must have something simple.”

“How the hell do you know the Ramones?” Lestrade demanded.

“Anything,” John groaned before Sherlock could answer. “Anything and everything. Rock, punk, blues, hell, either or both of you singing ‘Waltzing Matilda.’ It’s all fine, just so long as it’s not Wannabe.”

Lestrade grinned. “If that’s what you really really want.”

“ARGH!”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 23, 2013


End file.
